


Sangria

by Ravenhoot



Series: Ill-Fitting Pants (And Other Dire Hideous Clothes) [3]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Adventure, Espionage, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Kitlaf, Profanity, Secret Mission, Spain, Unresolved Romantic Tension, V.F.D., associates, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/Ravenhoot
Summary: Kit Snicket embarks to Spain on her first unchaperoned assignment for VFD. Who better to have with her than her best friend?Takes place BEFOREAuld Lang Syne&The Fox and the CountRated M for some adult language and some sensuality in later chapters, but no smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Legal stuff: I claim no ownership to Daniel Handler's stories or characters. He's brilliant and his characters are amazing. I thank him for letting me borrow them for my imagination to run wild. 
> 
> This will make a little more sense if you've read "All The Wrong Questions" by Lemony Snicket, although it's not necessary. In case you haven't read ATWQ, let me try to explain. It tells the story13-year-old Lemony Snicket as he and his VFD chaperone take on assignments from clients. So, we learn that VFD doesn't just put out fires - they seem to be sleuths for hire, which is how this idea came to mind. 
> 
> Olaf never had a last name in the books, so I made one up. Also, this takes place before his parents are killed, so he's not a Count yet. (I know a Viscount is more of a vice president to a Count, but I used it as father/son).
> 
> Finally, this was my first time writing about Spain/Spanish culture. *PLEASE* forgive me if I got any detail or fact incorrect. And please let me know so I can correct it. The last thing I want to do is insult anyone's culture. I just was inspired to write something that took place in Spain. Hope you enjoyed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fans of the book/tv series, the characters, especially Olaf, might seem severely OOC. However, this story is meant to take place long before the schism and before Olaf's parents were murdered. I feel like his character that we see in ASOUE is the result of the experiences that shaped him. So during the time my story takes place, he's still happy and whole, not broken and full of vengeance. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 

“I need two volunteers!”

The noisy din of the room quieted as the two dozen or so people in it looked around at one another. Then collectively, they all broke into laughter.

“Aren’t we all?” Someone called from the back of the room.

“Very funny,” said the man who’d asked for volunteers, although there was not a hint of amusement in his voice. “More specifically, I need two volunteers to volunteer for an assignment.”

“Is it someplace cold?” Olaf Crivelli asked.

“Not even close. It’s in Barcelona.”

“I’ll go,” Olaf said.

“But I haven’t even said what the assignment is yet.”

“Don’t care. As long as it isn’t cold, I’ll go anywhere to get out of this boring little town for a while.” Olaf was leaning back in his chair and had it propped up on the back two legs, his feet resting on the table in front of him.

The “boring little town” he was referring to was Paltryville. Aside from the lumber mill, the town was admittedly dull. The eye-shaped building they were in served as a local headquarters for their secret organization, so it couldn’t be but so exciting. After all, if its purpose was advertised, it wouldn’t be a secret.

The room was full of new and semi-new recruits. Some, like Olaf, Larry, and Jacqueline Scieszka had been on a few solo missions. Others, including the Snicket twins, had just received the sign-off from their chaperones that they no longer needed to work under supervision. It was common knowledge that the newer members stayed in some of the outskirt locations until they had a few successful missions under their belts. Each location had a director who oversaw operations. Currently, the director of the Paltryville bureau was a no-nonsense man named Edward Fitz. He was a heavyset man with sandy blond hair. He always wore a bow tie and suspenders, but never a suit coat. He was about as exciting as Paltryville itself.

“Very well,” said Fitz. “But I still need another volunteer.”

“Hey Snicket,” Olaf called. Jacques looked up from the book he was reading and raised his eyebrows to indicate he was listening. “You wanna go to Spain?” Before Jacques could answer, Fitz cleared his throat.

“This is why it’s important to get the assignment debriefing before accepting, volunteers,” he said in a condescending tone. “There’s someone in Barcelona who is smuggling stolen paintings out of the country. A private collector has requested our services in finding his missing artwork. We know who it is but not how he’s doing it or where certain paintings are ending up. He’s extremely suspicious and the only people who can get near him are members of his very exclusive club. A club where members must engage in salsa dancing. Now, I mean no insult to you, Mr. Snicket, but I feel you would be an ill-suited dance partner for our young Viscount.”

Several people in the room sniggered. Olaf sneered before pointedly uncrossing his feet and setting his chair to the floor. He twisted around in the seat to peer behind him, where Jacques' twin sister was sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to salsa, would you, little fox?” Olaf asked Kit, knowing full well that she did since he himself had taught her two summers ago.

“You should know,” she answered with a smirk. “You taught me.”

"You wanna go to Spain?" He asked for the second time. 

Kit closed the book she'd been skimming and considered. She hadn't been on an unchaperoned mission yet and having a good friend with whom she was comfortable might make it less intimidating. She noticed Georgina sitting a few seats down from her and could have sworn she'd given Kit the tiniest of head shakes.  _Why wouldn't Georgina want me to go? She's already been on a solo mission twice!_ Kit mentally shrugged and figured she had imagined it. 

"I'm gonna have to wear a dress, aren't I?" Kit huffed playfully at Olaf. 

"Well, it  _is_ salsa," he replied incredulously. 

 "Sure, why not?"

"Excellent," Olaf said cheerily. "So long, Paltryville!"

“Well,” Fitz said. “That’s settled. Pack what you need and be at the train station in the city at 9 am tomorrow. Another associate will be standing by with your travel papers. That’s all the official business for today.”

As Fitz turned to leave, conversation resumed around the room. Most of the newer associates, including Georgina Orwell, were discussing their disappointment at not being chosen, but several others congratulated Kit on getting her first solo assignment. Although she wouldn’t be completely solo, she reminded herself. Jacques closed his book and leaned in so Olaf could hear him over the noise of the room.

“You’d better not let anything happen to her.”

“C’mon, Snicket. How long have we been friends? You know she’s safe with me.”

“She’d better be.”

“That’s so cute—you protecting your wittle sister,” Olaf jeered.

“Seriously, Crivelli,” Jacques said with a sigh. “You could have picked any girl you want. Why her?"

"She's the only one who knows how to salsa and I don't have time to teach anyone else?" Olaf supplied but he knew from his expression that Jacques wasn't convinced. "Snicket, relax. It's an easy assignment. We'll be gone two, maybe three weeks, tops."

"I know what you're up to," Jacques warned. 

"What am I up to?" Olaf asked in a poor immitation of Jacques' suave and confident tone. 

"Crivelli, come on, I’m your friend.”

“She’s my friend too!” Olaf said defensively.

“That better be all she is.”

“Oh, lighten up, Snicket,” Olaf retorted without acknowledging Jacques’ statement. He looked at his watch. “Well, better go get packed. Train to the city leaves in an hour.”

****************************************

 

Kit stood in the train compartment looking back and forth between her suitcase and the luggage rack above her head. They had traveled from Paltryville to the main train depot in the city, met their associate at the designated location and received their tickets, boarded the right train, and were just pulling away from the station. She lifted the suitcase and hopped a few times, trying to gain enough leverage for it to reach the rack. After three unsuccessful attempts, she dropped the suitcase, put her hands on her hips, and blew her hair out of her face. Olaf closed the newspaper he’d been reading and looked up at her from his seat.

“You can ask for help, you know?”

“I don’t need help. I can do it myself,” Kit replied indignantly.

Kit tried two more times to get the suitcase on the rack above her head. Olaf sighed and stood up. He reached down, picked up the suitcase, and slid it onto the shiny metal bars without even having to stretch.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said to her. “But you don’t have to.”

“And what am I doing?”

“Trying to prove you can do anything yourself and don’t need help because this is your first ‘solo mission.’” Olaf sat back in the seat he recently vacated. He picked the newspaper back up but didn’t unfold it to resume reading.

Kit stared pointedly at him. She sat down on the bench seat across from him and crossed her arms.

“That is  _not_ what I was doing,” she insisted.

“Oh okay. Then what were you doing?”

“I was…” She faltered. She looked up to see that he had a bemused smile and was looking at her expectantly.

Kit sighed. “Okay, that’s what I was doing. It’s just… my mother told me that your first unchaperoned assignment sets the groundwork for the type of volunteer you’ll be. I don’t want to always need help.”

“Don’t fret, little fox. I picked you because I remember how terrible the first unchaperoned assignment was for me."

"I thought you picked me because I was the only girl that knew how to salsa?" She reminded him. 

"That helps," Olaf admitted. "But it wasn't the only reason. I needed someone I could tolerate for a few weeks and you're the least boring."

"Gee... thanks," Kit said with a scowl. 

Olaf chuckled. "I'm kidding!" 

Kit unfurrowed her brow and picked at the stitching on the train seat. "So, your first mission was a disaster, huh?"

"You have no idea. I was partnered with someone I didn’t know. At all. First time we even met was at the ski lodge where we were staying and it was horrible. I figured it would be a little less stressful if you did yours with a friend. And your mother is full of shit. I blundered my way through my first one and look at me now.”

"Is that why you hate going anywhere cold?" Kit guessed. 

"Partially."

Kit smiled and uncrossed her arms. Olaf extended his feet and rested them on the bench next to Kit. She tried to mirror his pose, but her legs weren’t quite long enough. So she slid down the bench until her toes reached the one across from her. She knew she looked ridiculous. Olaf chuckled. “Anything I can do, you can do… not as well?”

“Oh shut up,” Kit said, balling up a page from the complimentary newspaper that had been in her seat and throwing it at him.

“Question,” Olaf stated.

“Answer?” Kit asked.

“Why,” he asked as he reached over and plucked one of the pencils out of her hair, causing her bun to fall, “do you  _always_ wear your hair twisted up in these pencils?”

“Well, for one, it’s functional and keeps my hair out of my face.”

“And two?” He was twirling the pencil around in his long slender fingers.

“I always have something to write with,” she explained with a smirk.

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but when we go to that club, you’ll have to eighty-six the pencils. It may be a practical solution for you, but it’s all wrong for salsa. It's a very fluid dance. Your hair should be free-flowing.”

“Fine. But we're not at the club... yet,” she said as she plucked the pencil out of his grasp and readjusted her hair.  

“Better get comfy,” he told her. “We won’t get to Spain until tomorrow morning.”

Since they were the only two in the compartment, Kit opted to sprawl out. She pushed Olaf’s feet off her bench and leaned up against the window, stretching her legs down the length of the seat. She reached into the satchel on the floor and withdrew a book. Olaf kicked his feet back up and crossed his ankles in her lap. He gave her a smug look, which she returned with a small huff of indignation, but didn’t push his feet away. The train rattled on as the countryside blurred past them through the window.


	2. Chapter 2

As the train slowed to a stop, Kit put her hand on Olaf’s shoulder and shook lightly.

“Hmm?” He said sleepily.

“We’re here.”

Olaf sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. The train compartment was filled with gleaming sunlight that indicated it was mid-morning. He stretched his arms first above his head and then behind his back. He reached up to the overhead luggage rack and retrieved their suitcases.

Kit readjusted the pencils in her hair to hold her bun more securely in place. She withdrew a slip of paper from her jacket pocket with an address written on it. She reached the lobby of the train station and waited for Olaf to catch up to her. She hailed a taxi and provided the address to the driver. A short drive later, they arrived at a seaside hotel. Upon entering the hotel lobby, a man with a curled mustache and dark hair addressed them.

“Viscount Crivelli? Whatever are you doing in Spain?” He said, grasping Olaf's hand and shaking it warmly.

“Señor Gómez, what a pleasure to see you,” Olaf greeted.

“How is your father, Viscount? It’s been ages since he and your mother were down this way.”

“Staying busy, I’m afraid. Mother says he’s going to work himself to death.”

"Ahh, that is a shame. Tell your parents they should come down for a visit."

"I'll pass it along."

Señor Gómez suddenly turned his attention to Kit. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. The young Viscount has forgotten his manners. My name is Diego Gómez and I am the manager of the Hotel Resplandeciente. And who might you be?” He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, giving it a light kiss before releasing it.

“Forgive me, Diego. This is Kit,” Olaf answered.

“Kit?” Señor Gómez said.

“It’s short for Katherine,” Kit explained. “Katherine Snicket.”

“Not kin to Charles Snicket, by chance?”

“Yes actually, he's my grandfather. You know him?”

"Let us just say that you are among friends here, Señorita Snicket," Gómez replied. He shifted his weight in a manner that exposed his left ankle, where Kit saw a familiar insignia peering back at her. She smiled and nodded.  

“Well,” Gómez continued, more quietly. “They said they were sending two associates, but I certainly didn’t expect you, Olaf. A surprise, certainly, but a welcome one. I’ve had a suite set aside for you. It is a comfortable suite, but I regret to tell you it is only a one-bedroom, unfortunately. There is some sporting tournament going on in the city, so many of the hotels are completely booked. Here are your keys and do not hesitate to reach out to me if you need anything.”

He handed a key and slip of paper with the room number to Olaf, who put them both in his pocket. He picked the suitcases up from the floor and motioned for Kit to follow him. In the elevator, Kit pulled a coin out of her pocket.

“Flip you for the bed?”

“You can have it. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

"We might be here for weeks! You can't sleep on the sofa every night. We'll alternate," she suggested. 

"Don't worry, Kit, I've slept in plenty of worse places than a sofa in a posh hotel. Besides, you're the  _lady_ ," Olaf enunciated the last word with a mocking tone. 

"Always the gentleman," Kit retorted.

The elevator dinged on the 22nd floor and they found the right room.

Upon entering, Kit saw there was a small sitting room, kitchenette, and a spacious bedroom off to the left-hand side. The drapes were open at the far end of the sitting room, revealing a sliding glass door which led to a small balcony overlooking the Balearic Sea. Kit slid her jacket off and laid it on an armchair.

“To think we went from Paltryville to this in under forty-eight hours,” she marveled.

“Oh great,” Olaf said with a teasing groan. “Now you’ve gotten spoiled. Your first assignment is all posh and luxurious. Don’t get it in your head that they’re all like this. I’ve stayed in some places that make Paltryville look like a welcoming sight.”

Kit rolled her eyes and flopped, rather ungracefully, down into the same armchair she’d laid her jacket on. “So, now what?” She inquired.

“Now, we make the most of this all-expenses paid excursion until later tonight when we can check out that club.”

“Olaf, seriously?” Kit asked incredulously.

“Seriously," he insisted. "Diego Gómez has been friends with my parents for years. They’ve contributed who knows how much to his hotels. When he said ‘anything’ he meant it.”

“Okay, fine,” Kit said with an exasperated sigh. “What did you have in mind?”

Olaf cocked half of his eyebrow and said, “Room service, mi amiga.”

**************************************

Half an hour later, they were snacking on churros and horchata on the suite’s balcony while they chatted about the goings-on within VFD. 

"So, you've never gotten him to tell you the full story of his apprenticeship?" Olaf asked. 

"Nope," Kit sighed. "Lemony has always been a little mysterious but since he apprenticed with Markson, he's been... even more secretive. I didn't even know that was possible."

"Well, you can hardly blame him... being mentored by Markson," Olaf mused. 

Kit sniggered. "Be nice."

"Oh, that's no fun," Olaf whined. 

Kit leaned forward and rested her arms on the railing. She watched as seagulls passed over the hotel and became tiny pinpricks on the horizon. "I still can't believe out of everyone in Paltryville,  _I'm_ the one who got outta there and gets to enjoy gorgeous weather like this."

"Gorgeous is right," Olaf muttered too quietly for her to hear. Kit said something but Olaf didn't catch it. 

"Hmm? What'd you say?" He asked.

Kit snapped her fingers at his eye level. "Stop daydreaming about the stage," she ordered, assuming he'd been thinking up his next soliloquy. "I said that Orwell was pissed, you know."

“About?”

“You picking me for the mission instead of her.”

“Why would she be pissed about that?” Olaf looked bewildered.

“Men really are clueless,” Kit mused, more to herself than in reply to him.

Olaf looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Well? Why would Georgina be mad about that?”

“Oooooh, she’s _Georgina_ now. What happened to you calling everyone by their last name,” Kit teased.

Olaf looked at her with a deadpan stare. “Honestly, Kit. How old are you?”

“Nineteen and a half, thank you very much," she said matter-of-factly as she sat up straight and popped her hands on her hips. 

“You’re acting nine,” Olaf snapped. 

"So serious," Kit grumbled in a deep, husky imitation of his own voice. She furrowed her brow as deeply as she could and tried to mimic his expression, which served its intended purpose - it made Olaf laugh and break his stony countenance. 

“Besides," Olaf persisted. "I call you by your first name…”

“Only because you call my brother ‘Snicket.’”

"Why does it even matter?" Olaf demanded. 

"It doesn't," Kit said with a casual shrug. "It's just funny because she's sweet on you. Haven't you been able to tell?"

"Obviously not," he replied curtly. 

"Oh. Well, trust me, she is."

"How nice for her." Olaf's tone was icy. 

"Hey, I'm just giving you a hard time," she said reassuringly.  

"I noticed." Still icy. 

 

 

“You don’t sound too enthused,” Kit observed.

Rather than reply, he glanced at his watch and said, “We’d better change. We need to be at the club in an hour and a half,” before getting up and retreating into the bedroom.

Kit sighed. She supposed she’d pushed too hard with teasing him about Georgina. She didn’t understand what his hangup was - they talked about everything. Why would this be any different? Still, she knew he was as stubborn as a mule and when he didn’t want to talk about something, he’d shut down and close himself off. She decided not to bring it up again. This was, after all, her first unchaperoned assignment and she was lucky enough to have it be in a breathtakingly beautiful city with her closest friend. She wanted this trip to be memorable but not negatively so.

After twenty minutes, she figured he’d had enough time to change and rose from her chair. On her way in from the balcony, she picked up the room service tray and carried it inside. She set the tray outside the door in the hallway as she had been instructed by the hotel attendant who'd delivered it. She didn’t see Olaf anywhere, so she assumed he had gone down to the lobby. She went into the bathroom to shower and dress.

Almost an hour later, she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She very rarely wore much makeup or did her hair, but suspected it would be a daily occurence while they were here. It took entirely too long and she felt it was completely impractical. She stepped back from the mirror and decided she was satisfied. She wore a tangerine colored dress that was form-fitting on her shoulders and chest but fanned out in layers of ruffles at her hips. Her mother had insisted it would be ideal for the twirling and other movements of salsa dancing. She had (begrudgingly) taken the pencils out of her hair and curled and teased it, so it had quite a bit more volume than normal. She'd also decided to leave her glasses off, since she mostly used them for reading and she doubted she'd be doing much of that in a salsa club.

When she traipsed out into the sitting room, Olaf was sitting with his back to her. She approached him and when she got close enough, she saw he was reading the theater reviews for a new production that had premiered last week. 

 _Mind always on the stage,_ she thought. If she'd been paying attention, she would have noticed that the magazine was in Spanish and while Olaf could speak enough to communicate and be understood, he couldn't read it fluently. 

He closed the magazine when he heard her heels click on the wooden floor. He stood and turned around, taking a long look at her. He raised his eyebrow and gave her that smile - the one when she knew he was teasing her. “Excuse me, madam," he said, "but perhaps you can tell me where I might find Kit Snicket? She’s a short little thing with purple glasses and pencils in her hair. About as graceful as a one-legged fish.”

Kit guffawed sarcastically.

Olaf smiled and feigned sudden recognition. “There she is. I knew she was hiding in there somewhere.”

“Ha. Ha."

"Really though," he said sincerely, "you clean up nicely. You actually look quite lovely."

"Would it kill you to give a real compliment?" Kit wondered. 

"It just might," Olaf said with a shrug.

Kit shook her head in amused disbelief. "Can we go now?”

“Almost. You need one more thing,” he remarked as he reached for a flat, wide velvet box on the coffee table Kit hadn't noticed before.

Kit tapped her foot impatiently, which made her look down at her feet. Another aspect of her outfit that was out of character for her - high heels. And sparkly ones, at that. Kit grimaced at the shoes as if they'd personally insulted her. So impractical. 

Olaf opened the box to reveal a necklace made entirely of yellow, orange, and red crystals. Kit gaped at it stupidly until Olaf made a spinning motion with his hand instructing her to turn around. She obliged and held her hair up to expose her neck.

"See, if I could wear my hair up, you wouldn't have this problem," she taunted.

He ignored her and draped the necklace over her head. Kit shivered involuntarily as Olaf's fingers brushed the back of her neck as he secured the clasp. As she moved, the necklace resembled a flame dancing in the light.

“Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Kit commented.

“Maybe. But it matches your dress.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I told you. Señor Gómez said anything we needed…”

"Well, I didn't think that extended to precious jewels."

"It's just on loan for the night," Olaf clarified. 

Kit fingered the jeweled adornment lightly. “How did you know it would match my dress?”

“I have my ways,” he answered cryptically.

“Oh fine then, keep your secrets.” She picked up a small beaded bag and slipped the strap over her wrist. She had her hand on the doorknob when she realized he wasn’t following her.

“Kit, wait. I just thought of something... I can't believe I didn't think about it."

"What?"

"Your tattoo…”

“I have that handled,” she assured him, flashing her left ankle at him. Sure enough, it was bare.

“Makeup,” she explained simply.

“That works,” he said approvingly as they made their way into the hall and toward the elevator. He'd have to remember that if he ever needed to cover his for a theatrical role. 


	3. Chapter 3

A short taxi ride later, they were standing in the entrance of El Tucán, the self-proclaimed hottest dance club in town, and all Kit could think was that this place was a sensory overload. The music was loud enough to be heard from the sidewalk, the multi-colored lights shined in all different directions, and the room smelled like a mixture of sweat, citrus, and something sweet Kit couldn’t quite identify.

During their extremely brief briefing at the train station in the city, they’d been told to assimilate into the club, but to make sure they got a meeting with the owner by the fourth night. So they danced. Thanks to Olaf’s instruction, Kit was a sublime dancer. She realized that for whatever reason, it was easier to dance in the high heels than it was to walk in them. Despite his lean, wiry physique, Olaf spun and dipped her at all the right times and never once did she feel like he might drop her.  

Their first few days in Spain began to blur together - visiting the club in the evenings, walking the beach in the mornings, and spending the afternoons becoming familiar with the area. Kit realized Olaf hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was essentially an all-expenses-paid vacation, since the only time they could really “work” was in the evenings at the club.

On the fourth night, Kit was beginning to worry. They hadn’t been invited to meet with the owner yet, despite talking with the bartender and doorman several times. Kit had tried to drop subtle mentions of art while at the bar as often as she could without being suspicious. She ordered a Mediterranean Saúco and glanced around the bar. Their briefing had given them a general description of the owner, but so far, Kit hadn’t seen anyone that matched his description.

They had barely placed their drink order when the bartender nodded to someone in the back of the room who neither Kit nor Olaf could see. Someone approached them from Kit’s left. She jumped when she looked down and saw a young boy at her elbow. He motioned for them to follow him. He led them around the bar and up a staircase Kit hadn’t noticed before. As they entered a dimly lit room, Kit could see they were in a small office that had a wide one-way window overlooking the club. From the dance floor, Kit had mistaken it for a mirror.

A stocky man sat at the desk smoking a cigar.

“Señor?” Their young escort said timidly. “The guests you wanted to see—”

“Yes, yes, I know who they are. Get back downstairs and make sure that doorman isn't pocketing any of the entrance fees.”

The boy nodded and scurried away.

“You’ll have to excuse my nephew. His people skills are still not up to par,” their host said gruffly. “You look familiar, have we met before?" He questioned Olaf. 

"I don't believe we have. I am Olaf Crivelli."

"Aha! That's it. You're Count Walter's boy. I should have guessed. You look just like him."

Olaf nodded and shook hands with their host while internally, he cringed. He hated being called 'boy'.  “This is Kit Snicket,” Olaf said.

“Kit?”

“Like a little fox. La pequeño zorro,” Olaf translated.

“Ahh, I see. What an unusual name!” He set his cigar in an ashtray and grasped Kit’s hand to kiss it just as Señor Gómez had, only this time Kit was much more uncomfortable. Señor Gómez had greeted her warmly and made her feel welcomed and relaxed; this man gave her an uneasy feeling that made her feel anxious and unclean. He released her and she resisted the urge to wipe the back of her hand against her dress.  

“I am Nemesio Melgaréjo. Forgive me, Viscount. If I had known you were a guest in my club, I would have extended the invitation for us to meet your very first night here. Now my bartender is paid to do more than serve drinks. He's my eyes and ears for potential business contacts and he tells me one of you has an eye for art?” He looked expectantly at Olaf, who shook his head and replied, “Me? No no, I’m in theater. She’s the artist,” and pointed at Kit.

“Ahh yes, my sister says a woman’s eye is better suited for art and the like. Tell me, Ms. Snicket, do you have much experience with appraisals?”

“I do, Señor. I completed an internship with a prominent gallery back home and obtained an appraiser certification during that time.”

“My my. So many talents for one so young,” Melgaréjo declared. “An eye for good art _and_ a superb dancer. My dear Viscount, I may just have to make her a member of my permanent staff!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to confer with the Count on that one - I believe he’s already contracted Ms. Snicket to serve as his personal art consultant,” Olaf lied effortlessly.

“Well, that’s a pity. I suppose I shall have to make the best use of your time here then. I have some pieces being brought to the club the day after tomorrow. Would you kindly come by and take a look at them? I have some buyers lined up but the art is a style I’m unfamiliar with.”

“I’d be happy to,” Kit answered politely.

“Delightful,” Melgaréjo said. He pressed a button on his desk. Nothing happened. He pressed it again more forcefully.

“That boy,” he said to himself. He turned to Kit and Olaf and said, “As soon as he sees fit to answer, I’ll have my nephew show you out.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” Kit insisted. “We can find our way.”

“Very well, then. Delightful to make your acquaintance, Ms. Snicket. Viscount, always a pleasure. Do tell your father ‘hello’ for me.”

Olaf nodded curtly and held his hand out for Kit, who took it and tried not to look like she was desperate to get out of that office. Halfway down the staircase, the same boy that had led them upstairs appeared.

“S-sorry, Señor. Señorita. I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

Kit placed a hand on his shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. The boy accompanied them to the door but remained inside when Olaf and Kit exited onto the sidewalk. There was a line of taxis waiting, so they slid into the backseat of one and gave the name of their hotel to the driver.

Kit let out a relieved sigh but said nothing until they were back in their suite.

**************************************

“What a creep,” she pronounced as she kicked off the high heeled shoes. “Quick thinking saying I was already hired by your father.”

“Yes well, Melgaréjo is a bold man, but he's not stupid enough to try to swindle old Count Crivelli. By the way, did you actually intern at an art gallery?”

“No,” She admitted. “My aunt works in one and I’ve popped in a few times. Does that count?”

“It does if you can convince him.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I’m assuming he’ll have you ‘appraise’ whatever pieces he's recently stolen and then have them prepared to be sent off. He likes you, so you keep him talking and I’ll follow the paintings when they leave his office.”

Kit grimaced; she wasn't looking forward to being alone with Melgaréjo. Still, this was why they were here, so she nodded. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was after 2 am. She yawned involuntarily. 

“Wait, you know what I just realized?” She asked slowly.

“That we have the entire day off tomorrow?” He replied.

She squealed with delight. “I’m going to be such a tourist!” She exclaimed. "Goodnight!" 

Olaf groaned but Kit saw he was smiling as she closed the door to the bedroom.

A short while later, Kit sat in bed reading, unable to sleep. She heard speaking from the sitting room, so she closed her book, got out of bed, and opened the door just enough to hear better. Olaf was on the sofa, his feet kicked up onto the coffee table. He had the receiver of the phone to his ear and a glass of wine in his hand.

“She’s doing fine… Snicket, for Christ's sake, she is not your _baby_ sister. You’re what? Twelve minutes older than she is?... Okay, excuse me, seventeen minutes. She’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself. If you treated her like one and not some helpless damsel, you'd know that… No, I’m not putting her on the phone… Because it’s the middle of the night! She’s asleep… C’mon, man, cut me some slack… Well, you should have nothing to worry about then… Because she doesn’t… How do I know? Trust me, I just know… I’m hanging up now.”

Olaf slammed the receiver onto the phone a little harder than he'd intended and drained his wine glass in one gulp. He twisted around so his feet were at one end of the sofa. He adjusted the pillow Kit had left for him and in moments, he was snoring lightly.

Kit stood unmoving behind the bedroom door. It always amazed her how fast he could fall asleep, but that wasn’t what held her in place while she pondered. It was something he’d said that she couldn’t get out of her mind.

_"Because she doesn’t… Trust me, I know.”_

_I don’t what,_  she wondered. She climbed back into the king size bed and felt dwarfed by its size. Miraculously, she managed to fall asleep despite trying to think of all the possibilities for what it is she didn’t do.


	4. Shut Up and Dance With Me

Kit woke to the smell of something delicious. She retrieved a terry cloth robe from the back of the bathroom door and tied it securely around her waist. She found Olaf breakfasting on a feast of a variety of pastries and what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice. He turned when he heard the door open.

“Hungry?” He asked, holding out a round sweet roll covered in powdered sugar.

“Well this looks healthy,” she said, accepting the pastry.

“You said you wanted to be a tourist today, so I ordered room service with a little bit of everything.”

“Well, aren’t you thoughtful?” Kit mused.

“Aren’t I though,” Olaf conceded. “I truly am a delight.”

“Mmmm,” Kit mumbled with a mouthful of bread. “And modest too!”

“Finish eating and then we’ll spend the day doing disgusting touristy things."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Why?" Kit asked suspiciously. 

"Because... you want to, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"No buts," Olaf insisted. "Finish breakfast. Take your time - I’ll be in the cafe downstairs.”

Kit took another bite of the pastry, which according to the menu card on the tray, was ensaimadas. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew they were delicious. When she’d finished eating, she went back into the bedroom to change clothes. As she picked out something to wear, she realized that this entire day was for her - if Olaf had things his way, he’d spend the entire day at the theater chatting with critics or trying to sweet talk his way into watching a dress rehearsal. He never seemed to care what the production was - he just loved the theater. She put on a full-length loose flowing skirt, a light and airy blouse that dipped off of one shoulder, and some sandals. Her normally pale skin from spending so much time indoors reading had tanned nicely since she’d spent most mornings walking the shoreline. She tossed sunglasses and a book into a boho style bag she’d picked up at an open market by the beach. She stopped short when she passed in front of the mirror. She’d been instinctively reaching for the pencils to twist her hair up into a bun, but she’d finally gotten used to it being down from the evenings at the club and decided to just leave it the way it was. It still held some of the poof from the night before. She made sure the door locked behind her and made her way toward the elevator.

She spotted Olaf in the cafe almost immediately. She wasn’t sure if his hairstyle was by choice or if it had a mind of its own, but either way, it made him relatively easy to pick out of a crowd. He was sitting with Diego Gómez, sipping something that looked like a cappuccino. Gómez spotted her and stood when she approached.

“My dear Ms. Snicket. The Viscount was just telling me you’d be taking in some of the sights of the city today.”

“Yes, I think I’m looking forward to it more than he is. Any recommendations?”

“Well, there are plenty of shops in Las Ramblas. Or the Boqueria market if you don’t want to be so crowded.”

“I’m sure we’ll find our way there. I love architecture though. I’ve seen so many stunning buildings, but only in passing.”

“Oh then you simply _must_ see the Güell park! There are a plenty of churches that have remarkable architecture. Would you like me to reserve you a driver for the day?”

“Señor, you don’t have to do that. You’ve done so much for us already…”

“Nonsense. Count Crivelli is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I’m happy to make your stay with us as comfortable as possible. And please, call me Diego.”

“Well, we are most appreciative,” Kit said gratefully.

Olaf stood at the revolving door waiting for her. “Hurry up little fox. You’re burning daylight.”

Señor Gómez chuckled and muttered, “Just like his father…always on the move.” He got the attention of a bored looking man reading a newspaper and said something in Spanish that Kit didn’t understand but it was enough to infer that he would be their driver.

They spent most of the morning exploring places with stunning architecture that Gómez had recommended. By lunch, they had already been to Montjuïc Castle, the Church of the Sacred Family, and the Barcelona Cathedral. Kit had stood outside the cathedral for a full ten minutes with her mouth open in awe.

“Better close that or you’ll start catching flies,” Olaf had teased.

“My brother says that all the time.”

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

They’d asked their driver for a recommendation for lunch. He took them to a place Kit couldn’t pronounce and if she was honest with herself, she had no idea what she’d eaten, but she knew it was delicious. Their driver had then recommended the Picasso Museum, which they’d agreed to. Kit mused that maybe one of Melgaréjo’s staff would see them and get the word back that they were spending their free time in art museums. She was blown away by Güell park. The design of the entire place was so whimsical and unlike anything she’d seen before. The seemingly never-ending mosaic bench was itself a work of art. _Much more impressive than a bunch of stiff paintings,_ she thought. 

Kit was as equally impressed and perplexed with Olaf as she was with the city’s architecture. Normally, he was so smug and narcissistic, operating on his time without regard to anyone else’s. But throughout the day, he’d been completely accomodating to anything she’d wanted to do. He’d teased her a few times, but nowhere near as much as he usually did.

When it was nearing dinnertime, Olaf asked the driver to drop them off at a plaza they’d passed earlier in the day that was walking distance from their hotel. Their driver had told them when they’d passed it that it was an excellent place for dinner since it had a variety of restaurants and most had outdoor seating and live music. He bid them farewell and they thanked him.

Dinner proceeded to be similar to lunch in that Kit had no idea what she ate, but everything tasted fantastic.

“I really wish I knew the names of the stuff I’m eating, but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to pronounce any of it,” she chattered in between sips of sangria. _That_ she could pronounce and she was glad of it, because it was delicious.

They were seated at an outdoor table that had a lovely view of the plaza. In the center was a massive round fountain with a statue of a famous Spaniard atop it. The courtyard itself was about a hundred yards long, but was nowhere near as wide. There were white string lights stretched overhead from one side of the enclosure to the other, which came buzzing to life when the sun had finally set. As promised by their driver, there was live music coming from the far end of the plaza. It was loud enough to enjoy but not so loud that it drowned out the sound of conversation. Which Kit was trying, and failing to have at that moment.

“You look so preoccupied,” Kit observed.

“Hmm?” Olaf said, seeming to draw himself out of a thought. “Oh, just thinking about how to make tomorrow go off without a hitch.”

“Hey, no work. You said today we were tourists. Stop thinking about the job.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. No work,” Olaf agreed.

Kit stared at him for a moment. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked a bit defensively.

“I’m talking about today. You hate going on museum tours and being a cheesy tourist. You’d normally argue with me until you’re blue in the face if I told you to quit thinking about work. I’m talking about you acting _weird_ all day.”

Just then, their waiter appeared to ask if they needed anything else.

“Another sangria, please. Thank you,” she ordered. She set her elbows on the table and clasped her palms together, rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him expectantly.

Olaf sighed. “It’s just… I told Jacques I’d look out for you.”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need anyone to look out for me,” she snapped, a bit harsher than she’d intended.

“I know that. And I told him as much. Even so, I feel… responsible for you? This is your first unchaperoned assignment and I just want it to be memorable for you.” He was interrupted briefly by the waiter bringing Kit’s drink.

“When I said mine was horrible,” he continued, “I wasn’t exaggerating. If being a tourist for a day helped make this a good trip for you, then that’s what we’d do.”

“But... I’ve known you for years. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not usually concerned about what's important to someone else.”

“You’re different,” he mumbled softly. Immediately, he wished he hadn't said anything. Her brother was one of his closest friends and she was irreplaceable to him. He’d seen friendships torn apart by things like this and didn’t want that to happen. Besides, it was entirely too cliché.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You just are.”

Kit let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible.”

Several patrons of the surrounding restaurants had turned the plaza into an impromptu dance floor. Kit leapt out of her seat and held out her hand to him.

“We’ve gone dancing every night since we’ve been here. It feels wrong not to now. C’mon.”

Knowing she wouldn’t take no for an answer, Olaf took her hand and let her lead him to the middle of the plaza. When they passed the fountain, Kit asked again, “Why am I different?” Olaf just shook his head.

Perhaps it was because she knew no one was scrutinizing their every move or because there was no pressure to put on a show, but dancing in the plaza felt more enjoyable than it did when they were at the club. When Olaf spun her, the bright vibrant colors of her skirt blended together. It reminded Olaf of another time he’d spun her on another dance floor, back when she had absolutely no idea how to dance...

 

_It had been at the annual V.F.D. New Year’s Eve party. He’d just been expelled from Prufrock Prep and had told himself he was staying home from the party. His parents had barely looked at him except to tell him how disappointed they were, that he’d been enrolled in Wade Academy for the following semester, and he’d better not screw that up. But as he’d expected, they’d forced him to go to “keep up appearances.”_

_“You are sixteen years old. It’s time to grow up and do things you don’t want to do,” his father growled._

_“Because God forbid anyone know the Count is pissed at his screw up son,” Olaf had snapped._

_So he sat at the party in a chair at his parents’ table and sulked. Suddenly, fourteen-year old Kit Snicket, whom he’d met barely two weeks prior, came bouncing up to his table in a sequined dress that looked like a rainbow had exploded._

_“You are way too happy right now,” Olaf said to her._

_“No. You’re just way too mopey right now,” Kit countered. “Everyone else is enjoying themselves, except you.”_

_“Haven’t you heard? I’m a disappointment to the Crivelli name,” he quipped._

_“Oh, who cares?” She asked as she hopped back and forth on her feet and bobbed her head. "C’mon, let’s go dance."_

_“Do you even know how to dance?” He asked._

_“Nope!” She said happily._

_“Kit, you go. Have fun. I’m just gonna—”_

_“You’re gonna shut up and dance with me,” She finished firmly._

_Exasperated, he sighed and stood up. Kit smiled victoriously._

_She hopped back and forth in time with the music, punching the air with alternating fists. She bobbed her head side to side. She looked ridiculous, Olaf thought, but there was no denying she was having the time of her life._

_“You were right. You most definitely cannot dance,” he laughed. But any girl that loved to dance, whether she was particularly good at it or not, was alright in his book._

_“Well, teach me, then,” Kit suggested._

_So Olaf had tried to walk her through the basics of a waltz. She was hopeless at the footwork, but it was easy to see the spinning was her favorite part. He’d spin her and the multicolored sequins of her dress would blur together in a kaleidoscope of colors..._

Olaf roused himself from memories to realize the song had ended and the band announced they were taking a brief break. Kit and Olaf used that opportunity to order another round of drinks. Kit clutched her side and tried to catch her breath. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that Spanish dancing was a workout. She also used the respite to interrogate Olaf again.

“C’mon, tell me. Why am I different?”

“Can’t you just drop it?”

“Oh, O. You know me better than that.”

The band returned and struck up a tango. Kit raised her eyebrows at Olaf with a look of pleading. She loved to dance. He supposed it was partially his own fault for teaching her.

Olaf was exhausted. He’d barely slept the night before and they’d been moving non-stop the entire day. But Kit was having such a good time, he couldn’t deny her. So he took a deep breath and took her hand again. And they tangoed. The music seemed to move with Kit's hair... or was her hair moving along with the music? Olaf couldn't help but be captivated by her all the same. 

Toward the end of the song, right at the crescendo, Kit tried one more time. “Olaf… why am I different?”

Perhaps it was the influence of the sangria, the sensual drama of the music, or maybe she had just worn him down. Whatever the reason, he roared, “Goddammit, Kit! Because I'm in love with you!” and somehow still managed to dip her in beat with the music. Kit’s mouth dropped and they both remained motionless, trapped in the shock of the moment. She met his eyes and he looked terrified - an expression she’d never seen on him before.

Then Kit reacted. She didn’t think. She just let instinct take over. Her arms still around his neck from the final dip, she pulled herself up and pressed her mouth to his. It was brief and she pulled back to gauge his reaction, asking an unspoken question. Olaf answered it by kissing her back. His mind raced until he could form a conscious thought... which was that Kit was actually kissing him back! He'd dreamed of this moment for longer than he even wanted to admit to himself. He could barely believe he finally,  _finally_ had her in his arms. When they pulled apart, many of the other people throughout the plaza were clapping and cheering. Kit felt herself blush but couldn’t force the beaming smile from her face.

She sat on the edge of the fountain and held her hair up with one hand while fanning the back of her neck with the other. Even though the sun had set, the summer air was hot. She suddenly wished she’d tossed her pencils into the hobo bag she was carrying. She felt lightheaded and slightly dizzy.

 _Did that really just happen?_ She wondered.

Olaf stood next to her and held his hand out. Kit took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She swayed slightly but even after she steadied herself, she didn’t let go of his hand. He interlocked his fingers with hers and led her down a quieter street. Kit couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he seemed… almost like he was nervous.

 _But that’s ridiculous. Why would he be nervous around me? He’s known me since I was fourteen..._ She shook her head to try and organize her thoughts.  _He just said he loves me!_

“I feel like I owe you an apology,” Olaf supposed. “Or at least an explanation.”

“An apology for what?”

“I just sprung that on you and it’s not the right time to bring up anything personal. We’re in the middle of an assignment and I don’t want you to become uncomfortable.”

Kit stopped walking but held onto his hand so he was forced to turn and look at her.

“First, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be the one apologizing because I pestered you into telling me when you clearly didn't want to. Second, I doubt there’s anything you could do that would make me uncomfortable around you… Hell, Olaf, I’m more at ease with you than I am with my own brothers sometimes.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am! Don’t misunderstand me, I love my brothers. But Jacques can be a little pompous sometimes and Lemony is… well, Lemony.” She resumed walking at a leisurely pace.

Olaf chortled. “Yes, Lemony can be a bit of… an acquired taste?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Kit said with a chuckle. She was quiet for another moment before she laughed softly to herself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I was just thinking… our first day here, I pestered you for being ‘dense’. You know, about the whole Georgina thing. Guess I’m the dense one.”

“You’re not dense, little fox. Not even a little bit."

Kit cast him a skeptic glance. "Sure feels like it."

"Look," Olaf sighed. "For a while, I tried to talk myself out of it, like it was just residual from when we were teenagers or something. I lied to myself and hoped it would just go away."

"Oh," Kit said. Her voice was so small and Olaf immediately regretted his choice of words. 

"I didn't want to risk losing you, little fox. But I'm done lying to myself... and to you. Trust me, I tried my damndest to keep it to myself…”

“But, why?”

“Because, Kit. Did you ever stop to think why Lemony acts so sour towards me?”

Kit pondered. “I never gave it a lot of thought, but I mean, I wondered…”

“It’s because I was his friend first. And now I’m closer to you and Jacques. He introduced me to you two, remember?”

Kit tried to remember that day...

_It was when Lemony had come home from Prufrock for their Christmas holiday break. He’d shown up on the Snicket doorstep in his school uniform, suitcases in tow, but he hadn’t been alone. There was a teenage boy with him who Kit recognized immediately as Count Crivelli’s son. She didn't know him, but she’d seen the family photographed in the newspapers enough to recognize him. But she couldn’t fathom why he was at their house._

_Jacques had come thundering down the stairs when he’d heard Lemony arrive. Kit was already in the dining room setting the table for dinner._

_“Kit. Jacques,” Lemony greeted his siblings. “This is Olaf. He’s a friend from school. Where’s mom and dad?”_

_“Mom’s in the kitchen,” Kit answered._

_“And dad’s in his office,” Jacques responded almost simultaneously._

_“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Kit explained. “Do I need to set another place?” She asked, pointing at Olaf with her eyes._

_“Please,” Lemony answered. “Is the guest room set up?”_

_“Is he moving in with us?” Jacques mused._

_A few minutes later, they were all seated around the dinner table after Lemony had introduced Olaf to his parents, who had said of course it was fine for Olaf to stay the night._

_“Thank you, Mr. & Mrs. Snicket,” Olaf said politely, “for making accomodations for me so suddenly.” _

_“Well, of course dear,” Mrs. Snicket said. “We wouldn’t leave you out in the snow. But where are your parents?”_

_“My mother and father are in France and are due home tomorrow. I could go home tonight - there’s always staff at the house, but I would rather not be there when they get home… I’d prefer to go home after they get settled.”_

_“Aren’t they expecting you home for Christmas?”_

_“No, I usually stay at school during the holidays. But I was… I had to leave.”_

_“Olaf was expelled,” Lemony said bluntly. Olaf dropped his fork onto his plate and gave him a severe look._

_“Expelled?” Mr. Snicket repeated. “Whatever for?”_

_“Gym class,” Lemony answered. “Olaf and I were in drama club and the gym teacher thought P.E. ought to be more important than any other extracurricular.”_

_“Well, that’s preposterous. There have been some talented people who've come out of that drama club,” Mr. Snicket commented. “You can stay with us as long as you need to, lad,” he added to Olaf._

_“That’s very generous of you, thank you.”_

_After dinner, Lemony had gone upstairs to show Olaf the guest room while Kit and Jacques had helped their mother with the dishes._

_“Such a polite young man,” their mother observed._

_“Well, he’s got to be,” Jacques said matter-of-factly. “Look who his father is.”_

_“I do hope the Count isn’t harsh on him,” their mother fussed._

_After they’d cleaned up, Kit and Jacques had gone upstairs to get to know their houseguest a little better. They’d stayed up until dawn laughing until their sides were sore from listening to Lemony and Olaf tell horror stories from their school..._

Kit smiled as she recounted the memory from that night. She realized that during her musings, they’d walked so far as the beach. Kit took off her sandals and set them on a bench at the edge of the sand. Olaf kicked off his loafers and they continued toward the moonlit water.

“What are you smiling about?” He asked softly.

“Just remembering the night Lemony brought you to our house. You looked so pitiful.”

“I’d just been kicked out of school!”

“Yeah yeah. I guess you _were_ L’s friend first…” Kit admitted.

“Yep. And you and your evil twin stole me from him.”

“You make it sound so dramatic.”

Olaf turned to look at her. “Drama Club. Theater Major. Actor.” He said pointedly with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Kit giggled and then stopped abruptly. She never giggled. What was happening to her? Her best friend told her he loves her. She suddenly realized with horror that she hadn’t said anything in return. She thought hurriedly. Did she love him? She’d never given it a thought before - things between them were so relaxed and enjoyable, she’d never really thought much into why. She thought again of her conversation with him about Georgina. She’d never had cause for jealousy but suddenly the thought of Olaf with Orwell made her irrationally upset in a way she couldn’t identify.

Her face must have betrayed her, because Olaf's expression turned to one of concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you could either cry or scream. Or both, actually.”

“I love you,” she said in a rush. “I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before. I think maybe it's just always been there. But I didn’t know it until now. Or maybe I just took it for granted? Having you around has become so second-nature I never really gave it much thought. But now... it-it’s like I can’t think straight. And all I can think about now is how mad Georgina was that she didn’t get this assignment and wonder what would have happened if she had? And—”

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, take a breath,” Olaf said softly. He placed one hand on her shoulder and with his other, cupped her cheek. “Let me see your eyes.” She looked up at him solemnly. “There is _nothing_ going on with Georgina. I can promise you that.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her close. He was so much taller than she was that her head rested against his chest and she felt calmed by the methodic _thump_ of his heartbeat and the constant pulsing of the gentle waves at her feet.

“Trust me, little fox. I’ve only had eyes for you for a long time.”

"How long, exactly?"

"Since the night we got arrested in my dad's car," he confessed.

Kit stared at him. "Olaf, that was  _four_ years ago!"

"I told you - a long time."

“Then I really _am_ dense.”

“Or…” Olaf mused as Kit drew back a step. “It could be because I’m just _such_ a talented actor.”

Kit snorted. They’d been walking at the edge of the water for a while, and the hem of her skirt was drenched in seawater. She waded a little bit further into the water and abruptly kicked. An arc of water soared and hit Olaf square in the face. His instant look of shocked rage was replaced with one of impish mischief. Kit interpreted it correctly and turned to run, but the weight of her soaked skirt slowed her down. Olaf easily caught her and pulled her down into the water.

Kit shrieked as she went under and when she came up, all the volume from her hair was lost. It hung limply over her face. She laughed as she commented that she probably resembled Cousin Itt. Olaf pushed the messy mop of hair off of her face. "Nah, Cousin Itt was cuter," Olaf teased. Kit pushed him back into the waves. 

He had given up on trying to stay dry; he sat right in the surf, his long gangly legs spread wide enough for Kit to sit between them. She leaned her back against his chest and drew his arms around her. He rested his chin lightly against her head and for a moment they were silent as they looked out at the moon and its shimmering reflection on the calm sea. Kit leaned slightly to the side so she could turn enough to look at him.

Olaf was captivated by her. The moonlight reflected off of her glasses. He kissed her again and this time, they were both prepared for it. She opened her mouth slightly and wound her fingers through his wild hair. Her lips tasted like salt and sangria. He let himself get lost in her kiss, forgetting everything else. In that moment, V.F.D. didn't exist and all that mattered was the woman in his arms. As much as he hated to, he broke away from her, but only to help her up from the sand and lead her back to their hotel. Nothing would ruin an evening like getting arrested on the beach in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit to Walk The Moon


	5. Chapter 5

The only thing Kit remembered from the walk back up the beach and through the lobby of the hotel was the shocked expression of the night desk clerk as they sauntered in, soaking wet from the ocean and carrying their shoes. Once they were back inside their suite, Olaf pushed her wet, sticky hair off her forehead and kissed her. He'd wanted to have her in his arms for so long and now that she was, he never wanted to be apart from her again. A primal desire had taken over them and for that moment, nothing existed beyond each other. Still wrapped in an embrace, Kit walked backwards, kicking the bedroom door open. She fell back onto the bed and pulled Olaf down with her, hardly caring that her clothes were still drenched and soaking through the duvet down to the bedsheets.

He wrenched his mouth off of hers, slightly breathless, and practically forced himself to say, “Kit… wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t want to do something you’ll regret tomorrow. As much as I want to, and believe me… I want to. You are... exquisite. But I don’t want you to rush into something because you’re caught up in a moment.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran his long, slender fingers through the wet tendrils of her hair. “I love you, Kit. It’s liberating enough just finally be able to say that. But to hear you say you love me? That's more than I ever could have hoped for. That alone is enough to make this night... and this trip the best of my life. I can be content with that for now.”

Kit felt like her chest may swell and burst. She only just realized tonight that she was in love with him and she wanted him so badly she felt like she’d go mad. She couldn’t imagine how he must feel, trying to keep his feelings a secret and now being willing to sacrifice his desire for her just to make sure she was comfortable. _He does so much for you and you don’t even realize it,_ she thought. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t deny that she’d thought about this before tonight - about being with him. He was painfully handsome and she admitted to herself that she’d sized him up more than once, especially when he was dressed like he was tonight. Pinstripe slacks and a matching waistcoat with a crisp white shirt underneath, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms - just enough to see the taut muscles of his lean arms. 

She'd confessed to Beatrice once that she wondered what Olaf was like in bed. Beatrice's response had been, "Why don't you stop wondering and just find out?" Beatrice was a no-nonsense all-action kind of woman. Kit had voiced the concern that Olaf was her best friend and it might have ruined their friendship. Beatrice had replied, "You either regret what you do or regret what you don't do. Either way, you'll regret something, so you might as well have some memories instead of wishes to go along with the regret." Still, Kit had never wanted to risk things becoming awkward around her best friend. But she'd thought about it. Oh, had she thought about it. 

She realized if she took that plunge, they could never go back to the way things were before. But having admitted their love for one another, they already couldn't go back. In that moment, she realized she wouldn't want to go back even if she could. Whatever happened moving forward, she wanted it to be with him. And if it ended up being wrong, she would have the memories to go along with the regret.

“Olaf?”

“Hmm?”

“For once in your life, don't be such a gentleman,” she purred with a devilish grin and a hungry gleam in her eyes as she pulled him back down to her. He kissed her desperately, as if he were dying of thirst and her mouth was the only source of water left on earth. As he peeled her soaked blouse over her head, he vowed to himself he would remember every moment of this night for the rest of his life.

**************************************

Olaf woke at dawn to what felt like the tail of his mother’s cat swishing across his face, only it smelled like salt. But that wasn’t right - he was in Spain, not at his parents’ house. He blinked a few times in the pale light of day and realized it was Kit’s hair. She was lying with her back against his chest and his arm was draped loosely over her waist. His drowsiness evaporated immediately as he remembered every detail that had led him to these circumstances.  

After years of trying to first deny it and then hide it, he’d admitted to Kit how he felt about her. He'd been terrified he was going to lose her, because how could they go back to being such carefree friends after he'd professed something like that? But she’d shocked him completely by telling him she felt the same. What had happened afterward had been... perfection. If making love to Kit had been physical perfection, waking up next to her equaled in emotional perfection. It was hard to process everything. So much that he'd wanted for so long had happened in such quick succession, it was hard to catalog it all in his mind. But he wanted to ensure he remembered every minuscule detail - the scent of her on the ocean breeze, the way the moonlight had illuminated her radiant skin, the warm taste of her soft lips on his... 

He realized that if it was dawn, that meant this was the day they were supposed to meet Señor Melgaréjo. He knew it was shameful, but he didn’t care about stolen artwork anymore. He just wanted to stay here, with Kit, forever. He felt like they were taking a walk outside of time and when they returned home, the spell would break and things would go back to the way they were as if Barcelona had never happened.

 _Get ahold of yourself,_ he berated himself. _You have work to do and you’ve never been one to lose your shit over a girl._

But she wasn’t just _a_ girl, she was _the_ girl.

 _Enough! If Snicket could see you now, he’d call you a sap._ Kit made a soft sigh in her sleep. _Actually, if Snicket could see you now, he’d strangle you for putting your hands all over his sister._

Somehow, over the course of the past twelve hours, how he saw her had completely changed. She used to be Jacques' sister first and his friend second. But now he felt possessive over her, as if the only truth in the world was that she was his and he was hers. Which was preposterous, he realized, since spending one night together didn't automatically mean she wanted a future with him. He smoothed her hair away from her face and leaned up to kiss her temple. She stirred and grasped his arm as he was turning to climb out of bed.

“Mmm, where are you going so early?” She asked sleepily.

“To make some tea, love. We have to pretend to be super sleuth art experts today, remember?”

“No sugar in mine,” Kit ordered.

“I know, I know. Bitter as wormwood and pointy like a sword or… something.”

Kit laughed softly. “Sharp as a double-edged sword.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

He pulled on one of the terry cloth robes and went out into the kitchen. Kit groaned as she realized she’d have to function on very little sleep. She wasn’t sure exactly what time she’d fallen asleep, but the last time she’d noticed the clock, it had started with the 3 o’clock hour. She recalled the comforting feeling of Olaf's bare chest pressed against her back and his arm around her waist just before drifting off to sleep. Kit remembered the first night of their stay when the king sized bed felt too big and empty. It was a stark comparison to the previous night - with Olaf beside her, his warm welcoming embrace wrapped around her, the bed had been comfortable and inviting. Her head itched from the dried salt water. She crawled out from under the soft sheets and got in the shower. While she shampooed her hair, she allowed herself to replay the previous night in her head. It had been... everything she'd imagined it to be and more. Beatrice had been right about one thing at least... Kit had all the memories and absolutely no regret.

When she got out of the shower, she twisted her wet hair up into her usual pencils. She threw on a pair of loose-fitting, lightweight black linen pants and a bright yellow button-down shirt. She rolled the sleeves to her elbows and slid her feet into the same sandals she’d worn the day before.

Olaf was already dressed and sipping tea on the balcony. Kit worried for just a moment that there may be some awkwardness since they seemed to have vaulted headfirst into a relationship not even twelve hours ago. She wasn't about to question her decision - she couldn't go back and redo it even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. She was happy with the way things had gone. As she slid the balcony door open, instead of tension, she felt content. It was as if everything before the previous twenty-four hours had been years of build-up for a union that was long overdue. What she’d told him the night before had been true - she doubted that she could be uncomfortable around him even if she tried.

Olaf stood up when he heard the sliding glass door open. He handed her a cup of tea and kissed her hair just above her ear.

“You look like a bumblebee…”

She suddenly pictured a thousand mornings identical to this one, just minus the oceanview balcony. The pair of them enjoying tea together in comfortable silence. She immediately chastised herself for thinking such things. With the work they did, the future was unpredictable. No matter how perfect and secure things seemed, it could all be gone in a spark. Which was why she was never having children, she told herself. She didn’t want to make kids grow up in the world she lived in.

Kit sipped her tea as she watched a cruise ship on the horizon. How she wished they could just stay here forever, but that wasn’t the reality they lived in. She finished her tea and looked at Olaf expectantly.

“Ready?” He asked when he saw her empty teacup.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Olaf held the door open for her and they made their way down the hall and elevator and through the lobby to once again, hail a taxi to take them to El Tucán. Señor Melgaréjo had not specified a time for them to meet but also had no way of contacting them, so they decided to just show up. Which would turn out to be a very bad idea.


	6. Chapter 6

The door to the club was propped open, so they walked inside hesitantly. They’d never been to the club during the day; the overhead fluorescent lights destroyed some of the magic of it. It looked sad and a bit unkempt in the daylight. They heard voices through a door adjacent to the bar - a door they’d never noticed in the usual dim lighting of the club. It appeared to lead to the stockroom. That door was also propped open and Kit could hear at least two people arguing but from the amount of movement they could hear, it sounded as if there were quite a few more silent figures. 

“Why do you look so worried, boss?”

“Because they could arrive any minute and I need the fakes in those frames and in my office before they get here!”

“But, boss, what are a bunch of fake paintings going to get us?”

“It’s going to get _ you _ time to get the real ones on that boat and over international waters. This collection is going to make me millions, but only if we get it out of the country before we’re caught.”

“But I thought the girl was an art appraiser?”

Kit and Olaf heard  Melgaréjo scoff with disgust. “An art appraiser. Don’t make me laugh. That girl knows nothing about art. Neither does her rich boyfriend. They were probably just sent here to snoop around and report back to the authorities.”

Kit’s eyes were wide with panic. Their plan was completely ruined and they didn’t have a backup idea. 

“I give them credit,”  Melgaréjo continued. “They were smart.”

“They, boss?”

“V.F.D. They think they’re so secretive but this whole arrangement smelled like them from a mile away. Still, sending a prominent nobleman’s son and his little minx of a girlfriend was clever. It took me a little longer to realize who they were.”

“How’d you figure it out boss?”

A third voice interrupted before  Melgarjéo could answer. “Ok boss. All five paintings are switched. The fakes are in your office and the real ones are rolled in this tube. Crazy how something so small can be worth so much money…”

“See to it that you remember that when you’re transporting them, André.” 

Olaf tried to ease the door open a little more to see which person was André. It did open… with an echoing creak. 

“Boss!” The  voice that had spoken first shouted. “They’re in the bar!” 

Melgarjéo said something in Spanish. Kit looked at Olaf and hissed, “What did he say?”

“Something about a rendezvous point and a boat.”

Kit saw the bartender, who was holding a poster-length tube, dart through a door in the back of the stockroom and disappear. 

“The bartender has the paintings! He’s getting away!”

“Kit, wait for—” He started to say but it was too late. She had already taken off in pursuit. She dashed through the stockroom and out the back door. He knew he should probably stay and deal with  Melgarjéo, but if they recovered the real paintings, they’d have the proof they needed and he couldn’t hid forever. He made a decision and ran after her.

“Kit!” He called. She either didn’t hear him or was choosing not to acknowledge as she continued running and rounded a corner.

“Kit!” He shouted louder; she kept running. “ _ Kit!”  _ He reached the corner and swiftly looked in all directions, but there was no sign of either Kit or her quarry.

“Shit!” he roared as he kicked the nearest wall in frustration. Rather than make him feel better, all that succeeded in was making his foot hurt. He roared again and slammed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the filthy sidewalk. He grimaced with pain as he tried to think of what to do next. The city was enormous—she could be anywhere. 

He looked up to see a boy of about ten sneaking through the alley trying to avoid being seen.  _ Trying and failing _ , Olaf thought.  _ Surely he’s trying to make that much noise on purpose? _ The boy was stepping on almost every piece of glass or newspaper he came across. After the sound of the third glass bottle breaking beneath his feet, he turned around and made direct eye contact with Olaf. It was brief—if Olaf had blinked right at that moment, he’d have missed it. He assumed he was supposed to follow.

He scrambled hastily to his feet and brushed the dirt off the seat of his pants as he followed the boy. Only he took caution to follow without being seen or heard. Block after block, he walked, staying at least twenty yards behind the boy at all times. The boy turned around every so often, as if he was making sure Olaf was still following him. Olaf couldn’t help but think the boy looked oddly familiar, but couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. They’d been in Barcelona for nearly a week and they’d had any number of waiters and busboys. 

He realized that in all likelihood, this was probably a trap, but he felt an obligation to make sure Kit was alright. She wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for him. He’d never forgive himself if she got hurt. Finally, the boy stopped at the end of the next block. Olaf realized they were in an old industrial area with vacant-looking warehouses in various states of neglect. On the other side of the warehouses was a canal where many citizens docked their boats. He caught up to the boy, who was crouching behind a Dumpster.

“Who are you?” Olaf asked in a frantic whisper.

The boy shook his head and held a finger to his lips. He pointed to the warehouse directly across from their crude hiding place and then sneaked around the side of the building and out of sight.

Olaf crept up to the building and used a corner of his shirt to clean the grime off one of the window panes. He saw the bartender, who he now knew was called  André, standing with his back to the window. Under his left arm was the tube of rolled-up paintings. In his right hand, he held something metallic and shiny that he was tapping against his leg. In one of the back pockets of his jeans was a two-way radio that he undoubtedly was supposed to use to communicate with his boss. There was something else on the ground, but the window was still filthy and was difficult to see through. He squinted and realized two things in the same instant. One was that the object André was tapping against his leg was a revolver. And the second was that the thing on the ground he'd been unable to identify at first was a pencil that had been snapped in half. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Olaf sank back down to the ground below the window. “Kit…” he said in a strangled whisper. The boy reappeared next to him.

“He has your friend in the boat,” he breathed. “I tried to wake her, but she wasn’t moving.”

When the boy spoke, Olaf finally recognized him.

“You’re Melgarjéo’s nephew.”

The boy’s face was unreadable. “My uncle is a terrible man. I came to live with him when my father died, but he is wicked and cruel.”

“Do you know how to get inside this building?”

The boy nodded. “Around the other side, there is an open door. It is where the boat is tied.” He motioned for Olaf to follow.

As they crept around the side of the building, Olaf whispered “What is André standing there for?”

“He was supposed to take the paintings on the boat to another one of my uncle’s businesses. Though I do not know why your friend is in the boat.”

“Alright. Go home, kid. I can’t risk you getting hurt too.”

“No, Señor! I want to help!”

“But if your uncle finds out you helped me…”

“My uncle sees me as a servant. He never talks to me unless it’s to give orders.”

“Still, I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger, kid.”

“I will try to wake up your friend again,” the boy said, completely ignoring Olaf and darting off again.

Olaf spotted a rusty can and some old newspapers on the ground. He muttered to himself a few times, trying to get the accent right. When he was satisfied, he held the can to his mouth, rustled the newspaper and snapped, “André! Switch to channel 3.” in a passable imitation of Señor Melgarjéo.

He watched the bartender change the dial on the radio and speak into it.

“Ok, boss. Now what?”

“Where’s the girl?”

“She tried to get the paintings, but I cracked her pretty good on the head. She’s in the boat.”

“Take her to the marina.”

“But, boss… she’s seen us. Won’t she tell the cops?”

“I have someone else there who will take care of her.”

“Whatever you say boss.”

Olaf rustled the newspaper against the can, hoping it sounded like the end of a radio transmission. He also hoped the scrawny kid had been able to wake Kit up. He hurried around to the front of the building where, sure enough, there was a boat rocking lightly against the dock. He saw the boy shaking Kit’s shoulder, but she still lay unmoving.

 _She’s not dead._ Olaf tried to assure himself. _The bartender wouldn’t be worried about her being a witness if he’d killed her._

He waved the boy over to him.

“If he drops that tube, can you get it without being seen?”

“Sure, Señor!”

“Get ready, then.”

Olaf picked up a pipe from the ground and threw it as hard as he could in the opposite direction of the boat.

 _A little crude, but if it works…_ He told himself.

Just as he’d hoped, André dropped the tube in surprise and went running to see what had made the noise. Olaf climbed into the boat and scooped Kit up. She had a lump on her forehead that was starting to bruise, but she was breathing. He carried her around the corner of the warehouse and not even half a minute later, the boy appeared with the tube in his grasp.

“Great job, kid! I don’t suppose there are any cabs around here?”

Suddenly, Kit stirred, opening her eyes, and relief flooded through him.

“Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

He set her down gently and held his hands millimeters from her in case she stumbled.

“I’m fine, really. It was just… wait, isn’t that Melgarjéo’s nephew?”

Olaf laughed despite the perilous situation they were in. “Where were you when I needed that information?”

“Señor!” The boy gasped. “I just noticed you and your friend have the same tattoo! Are you in a secret club?”

“Perceptive little fellow,” Kit observed.

Just then, a black car pulled up at the far end of the block. The driver got out and waved them over. Olaf recognized him as the same driver who’d chauffeured him and Kit around the day before.

He and Kit hurried toward the car. Olaf stopped and looked behind him. The boy stood in place, looking unsure of what to do.

“C’mon, kid,” Olaf called.

The boy ran after them and in moments, they were all safely inside the car.

“Diego sent me,” the driver explained. “He had a feeling you might get into trouble and need a quick getaway.”

“Remind me to praise that man for his intuition,” Olaf said.

“Who’s the boy?”

“My name is Hector,” the boy chirped.

“Well, Hector,” Olaf began. “When we reach our destination—”

“Actually, Viscount, forgive me. But Diego said to take you directly to the train station.”

“What? Why?!” Olaf asked indignantly.

“Diego said if anything went wrong, Melgarjéo would be looking for you. He said he’ll handle the stolen art from here but his top priority was making sure you two made it out of Barcelona.”

“But, our suite…” Kit protested.

“Everything is in the trunk. Diego doesn’t like to leave loose ends.”

“Very well. But what about Hector?”

“Please don’t make me go back to my uncle’s house!” Hector begged.

“Don’t you worry, son,” the driver said gently. “I’m going to take you to meet someone who will help you start a new life somewhere far away from here.”

“Does he have a tattoo like Señor Olaf and his friend?”

“As a matter of fact… he does.”

Hector’s eyes lit up right as the car pulled into the train station. The driver, whose name they’d never learned, got out to retrieve their bags from the trunk.

“Diego assured me that the paintings will find their way to the authorities with plenty of evidence linking Melgarjéo.”

“What kind of evidence?” Kit asked.

“The fake paintings from his office,” their driver answered with a wink. “Now, you must hurry. Your train leaves in half an hour.”

He waved goodbye to them as he pulled the car away from the curb. Kit and Olaf moved through the train station and boarded the train on auto-pilot. They were grateful to find a compartment to themselves. Kit closed the compartment door behind them while Olaf stowed the bags in the racks overhead. They collapsed onto the same bench in unison, Kit nearest the window and Olaf closest to the train corridor. They were silent until the train lurched into motion.

“Kit…” Olaf began.

“Olaf… don’t. I know what you’re going to say. I shouldn’t have run off without a plan. That it was a rookie mistake. I just don’t want a lecture right now.” Kit’s lower lip trembled and she took in a rattling breath, but she never shed a tear.

“Kit, no,” Olaf croaked. “It’s my fault you got hurt. I’m the one who asked you to come with me. I dragged you into this. I was responsible for you.”

“We’ve been over this before. You’re not culpable for my decisions.”

“I’ve always been sure of myself, Kit,” Olaf explained. “I’ve never second guessed anything I’ve done. But when I saw you lying there in that boat, I thought I’d lost you. And I didn’t know what to do.”

Kit reached for his hand, which was laying open in his lap.

“O, I’m okay. If this is going to work, we have to trust each other to be able to look out for ourselves. You’re not going to be able to follow behind me every moment to make sure I never get hurt... And I'd be pretty annoyed if you did, to be honest.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Sweet little fox. You might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Might?” Kit taunted.

Olaf poked her in the ribs.

“Ow! I did just get knocked on my ass, ya know.” She rubbed her head for added emphasis.

“I’m very well aware, remember? Saw you unconscious on a boat. Thought you were dead. Panicked and wanted to murder the man responsible?”

Kit felt her expression soften as she realized just how worried he’d been over her. 

“Jacques is going to kill me,” Olaf muttered.

“Who says he has to find out?”

“Well, my dear, when we get home, he’s going to see that substantial knot on your forehead and interrogate me until the cows come home.”

“So, what if we don’t go straight home? Diego didn’t tell Fitz we were coming home, so no one will be expecting us anytime soon.”

Olaf looked at her in surprise. He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but that definitely hadn’t been it.

“Did you have something specific in mind or just for us to roam around Europe until you’re no longer concussed?”

“Well… we probably need to lie low and not draw attention to ourselves, so roaming Europe probably wouldn’t be the smartest idea.”

She sat quietly for a moment with her chin in her hand.

“This train goes through France, doesn’t it?”

“That’s your plan?” Olaf wheezed. “Just hop off in France and wander around for a week or so?”

“Well… your parents have a summer home in Paris, right?”

“Well, yes…” He’d started to protest that Paris was even more densely populated than Barcelona so someone was sure to recognize him at least.

“But?” Kit pressed.

“Nothing. But nothing. It’s genius, little fox. My parents’ house is fully stocked with everything we’ll need. Including a spare standard issue disguise kit.”

“So, we’re getting off in Paris?”

“We’re getting off in Paris, my dear,” Olaf confirmed, kissing her tenderly.

He kicked his feet up onto the empty bench across from them and hoped he’d be able to catch up on some much needed sleep on the way to Paris. As Kit nestled down to lay her head on his lap, she said with a content sigh, “Excellent. I’ve always wanted to see Notre Dame.”  

As she drifted off to sleep, Olaf set a timer on his watch to wake him up in an hour. If she had a concussion, which he strongly suspected she did, he needed to make sure to wake her at periodic intervals so she didn’t sleep too long. He looked down adoringly at her sleeping figure and realized she’d probably want to go touristing around Paris. But he smiled, because he knew, without hesitation, that he’d climb every step in that damn cathedral if it would make her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The initial inspiration for this story was Blake Shelton's "Sangria". I wanted to write a scene inspired by that song and then felt compelled to add context and ideas just kept coming to me. I'm not much of an action writer - I admit, I'm more about the fluff. But I had fun writing it.


End file.
